Inescapable
by Louise24601
Summary: Damon has done the irreparable. Elena and Stefan move to London to start over, but the city has secrets of its own. A new school with strange teachers and a frightful history. Odd dreams, shapes appearing and disappearing in the fog. Can Elena trust Damon to help her solve London's mysteries? Or is he only looking to find a way back into her her life, and pulling all the strings?
1. Chapter 1

**AN** : Warnings, for those of you who can't bear the thought of a "mean" Damon (I mean awfully meaner than on the show), you probably shouldn't take your chances. He isn't going to be the main bad guy of the story, and the worst of his interactions with Elena are set prior to this first chapter. Just thought I'd warn you. Also, I am choosing to set this story out of Mystic Falls and in London, of all places. First because I think Europe is a rich enough place to imagine vampires and other nightmarish creatures, which leads me to my final point: this story is going to feature a lot of characters and creatures that aren't in the original show (and it may have a "Buffy" feel from time to time). I'm choosing to focus primarily on Elena, Damon and Stefan, though others may occasionally be mentioned. All right, this is getting awfully long: enjoy the story.

Prologue: Night

The worst of it aren't the nightmares but this moment of indetermination when Elena wakes up, her chest full of air that she can't let out, the thoughts running in loops to the mad rhythm of her racing heart.

 _When is this, where am I, is this a dream?_

 _Is it his?_

Cold sweat beads down her forehead, her hands clawing at the sheets. Damon's smile shines red as murder on her mind.

"Elena," Stefan's voice is a faraway whisper, his hands on her back failing to anchor her to the present. "Elena," his face is close to hers now and she leans into his embrace half-consciously, her body recognizing the familiar routine. "June 2010," the words in his mouth sound like a magical charm, a lullaby, appeasing her slowly. "This is June 2010," Stefan repeats.

He waits in silence, holding her gently, as her breathing returns to a normal rate. Elena's eyes get used to the dimness and she is struck by the strangeness of her environment –

The room is wooden, but the warm amber colors come out blue in the night, the sheets on the bed are white as soap, and through the window she can see the only thing unchanged – the stars hang bright in the darkness, but the sky is moonless.

Elena forgets.

It isn't only the _time_ that's different.

"And this is London," Stefan finishes, penetrates her thoughts. "England, Elena. Europe. It's all right. Mystic Falls is far behind us." His hand brushes soothingly against her cheek. "This is our new start."

 _Right_.

Elena remembers now, how important it felt to get away from there, as far as possible. Little good it did them, she thinks cynically. Her first night in England and she wakes up to the sound of her own screams.

There have been tough nights before, but tonight's the worst in a while.

How could she have thought that putting miles between her and Damon would help?

Dreams fly faster than airplanes, they go through walls and locked doors.

"We're away," Stefan resumes, "from everything."

He says _everything_ instead of his name, the name that haunts them both, the name they can't speak to each other anymore.

For a moment, they're silent again, and Elena makes out the vague whisper of city sounds coming from the window, which are something of a reassurance. A _change of air_ was the whole point. Not her beloved hometown, small and quaint and full of ghosts, but a capital. No room for the Gothic sights of lonesome streets or haunted houses. Nothing _mystic_ about it at all.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"No." He only replies. Of course, he's the one who plays the sorry part.

"I thought that we could be done with this. That we could leave it behind –"

"We can." He tightens his hold around her, his hands wrapped below her chest, his front to her back. "Give it time," he plants a kiss to the top of her head. "This is only our first night."

Elena nods. She wants to believe that, far from Mystic Falls, they can have a new life that's free of demons, one demon in particular.

Stefan eases her back on the bed and, after a while, Elena's eyes are closed again, her mind is almost at peace.

Almost.

But for this strange, nagging feeling in the back of her mind. The atmosphere around her is still hostile from her dream, and through her eyelids, Elena watches out for danger lurking in the dark.

Stefan is right.

They came here for a new start and, nightmares or not, Elena is damn well going to give it her best try.

But she'd be damned if, outside the window, mingling with the city sounds, Elena doesn't hear a _crow_ crying in the night.

…

 **End Notes** : I know this feels short, but I really just wanted to set the tone of the story before diving in. Also, I've set the story in 2010 because I saw the events taking place somewhere during the second season (strange to think it's already been eight years). Please share your thoughts and reactions in the comment section.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Something in the Air

Elena stands still and silent in front of her new school, momentarily incapable of a reaction. Stefan's hand around her waist is a comfort, gentle – he isn't pushing her forward but giving her time to take in the institution. 'London Boarding School for Special Students' is a strange enough name, Elena reckons, as if students weren't special by definition (you're supposed to make them feel like they are).

Of course, this is a selective school and Elena knows she and Stefan have been lucky to get in. Though neither of them was extremely impressed with receiving a letter confirming their admittance – and it _was_ meant to impress, beautifully handwritten and on a cream-white paper – the school is so unambiguously majestic that Elena can't fight off the feeling any longer.

The name of the school is written on golden letters above the entrance, and the words _Special Students_ keep drawing Elena's eye.

Stefan clears his throat, not so much awkward as anticipating on her own awkwardness. His already fully-developed thoughtfulness somehow increased, after the Incident.

'The Incident' is always how they call it now. It has the advantage of being vague and not having the name _Damon_ in it.

"It looks bigger than on the pictures, right?"

Elena manages a small nod. "Yeah. Bigger."

But _big_ isn't really the most distinctive feature. Really, what surprises Elena is how _timeless_ the building looks. The stones are a dark shade of crimson, the roof rising into steep peaks. London is a historical city, and the school shouldn't stand out from the global atmosphere, in view of the magnificent monuments that send you back centuries with a mere glimpse. But it _does_ stand out.

Actually, looking at the school, Elena is filled with a very _ominous_ feeling, the sort she hasn't felt in a long while.

It's been three months now since she and Stefan moved to London. Three months of ordinary life that managed to convince her things might get better, after all. After that first night, there were few enough nightmares, and Elena is slowly starting to feel both spatial and temporal distance will ultimately succeed in keeping her demons well buried.

"Can you believe we're going to spend the year here?"

"Well," Stefan admits, "it's a little more sophisticated than Mystic Falls High. But, you know," he smiles, that same charming smile she's fallen for without needing to try, "I've seen more impressive in my days. Come on," his hand slides away from her waist and reaches for hers, until their fingers are intertwined. "Let's not get ourselves late. I have a feeling the people here are rather strict about rules."

"You're not kidding."

…

Elena looks forward to the beginning of class, to be on familiar ground. Sure enough, sitting in a class full of students, the school will lose a little bit of its uncanny aura and she'll be able to relax. Despite what packaging it comes in, all schools, in the end, are pretty much the same.

Still, Elena isn't completely reassured when she and Stefan take a seat in the appointed classroom. On the inside, it doesn't look radically different from Elena's old school. Maybe a little soberer in its choice of colors. A little more austere. But it isn't just the building, in truth; it's not that there're no pictures or posters pinned to the individual lockers, nothing left hanging about in the hall, in which Elena's footsteps actually echo, whose ceiling is unusually high and – Elena notices – covered in cobweb.

There is something else, indescribable, that she can't put her finger on, _something in the air_ that's simply not right.

Elena realizes, while she and Stefan are sitting in the back of the class – it felt like the safest seat to start with – that the students around them aren't causally chattering, sharing summer anecdotes. The room is as silent as a library.

Stefan's hand is in her lap, under the table, and Elena clutches it tightly.

"Do you see this?" Her voice is lower than a whisper.

"I know," he says, and points out something that's gone completely unnoticed by her. "They're all wearing uniforms."

Now that he's said it, Elena finds it blindly obvious. The girls are in mid-thigh skirts, the boys in trousers, and both wear the same V-neck, long-sleeved shirts, topped with a red tie, which is the only item to bring a flash of color: the rest, shirts, skirts and trousers, are all unmitigated black.

"What the –"

"It's okay." Stefan smiles, sounds genuinely untroubled. It's impossible to tell whether he's really not bothered by this or if he's just working hard as hell to convince her he's not. "We'll just stop by the reception during recess. These students have probably been here since the ninth grade. Or whatever is the English equivalent for that," he chuckles. "They're used to wearing uniforms. We just didn't think to ask."

But somehow, that doesn't sound all right to Elena, whose blue jeans and red shirt feel blatantly out of place. All she wants is for she and Stefan to be alone so they can talk about this.

"So you don't think this is – strange?" She whispers.

"I think," Stefan answers carefully, "that we should give this school a chance."

It's too late for them to just get on their feet and leave, anyway, because the door of the classroom opens wide on a small, oddly shaped man, whose sheepish smile should make Elena feel better, because it's in such contrast with the acerb ambience of the school. But it doesn't quite. In fact, the man's grin stiffens the hairs in Elena's neck. There's something practiced about it, something overly nice that she's not buying.

"Morning, class."

None of the students say 'Morning' in return. They're like trained children, dutifully silent. _Not '_ like', Elena thinks. _Trained children_ is what they are. _Special_ children. The words from the sign come back to her with a shiver.

While the teacher gets his things in order, Stefan hands Elena his leather jacket, which she hastily slips over her red shirt.

Among all these uniform-clad students, she must look like a drop of blood in a black river.

How fitting is _that_?

Under her breath, the young girl mutters, "Story of my life."

"Most of you," the teacher begins, "will know me from last year. For those who don't," he turns back from the board, and Elena has a feeling that he's looking specifically at her. "I am Professor Beadle. It is my great pleasure to teach you literature, and I very much hope you'll share into it – fiction is always about opening yourself up, seeing beyond your own view of the world. So, in this classroom, you will not always be students. I won't always be a teacher. With some luck, we can all become one with the fantastical characters that'll accompany us for the rest of the year."

His finishes with a smile. It truly looks innocent, even a little pathetic. You can tell he's wished a number of times that it would make him more attractive.

And he doesn't look attractive at all, as a matter of fact. Plump, with small eyes that look like marbles pushed into white dough, Elena would guess he's maybe a head shorter than her, which gives the class a full view of his balding scalp. The worst, though, is how slick his skin looks. Glistening under the neon lights – he must be badly sweating, but strangely enough, he doesn't seem nervous.

Elena realizes while she was appraising the teacher, he was silently appraising her. Heat rises her cheeks – terrific. Because she wasn't _red_ enough.

"Ah," Professor Beadle says. "And you must be our new students from America. Stefan Salvatore and –" He chews on his lips, feigns not to remember. "What was your name again, Miss?"

Elena swallows, hates the picture she must give. This is worse than when her parents died, almost as if toads will come out of her mouth when she speaks, like the girl in the fairytale.

But she's not just a fragile young woman who's been through hell and back.

Elena has taught herself to study people, to be clever.

 _He already knows my name_ , she thinks, strangely, instinctively. _Why would he want to hear me say it?_

"Elena Gilbert."

"Elena," he repeats, delighted, each syllable sounding slimy as the layer of sweat on his skin.

Under the table, Stefan's hand tightens around hers.

"Well. Looks like we forgot to send a notification about the school's uniforms. No worries. You can order one your size, they should be there in a few days. All right. Let's get started then."

As the professor turns back to face the board, Elena casts a quick glance at Stefan, only to see he's already looking, ready to meet her eyes.

Then, the words pass between them without needing to be spoken.

There's something strange about this school.

Something utterly un-human.

Stefan lets out a weak sigh while Elena looks back at the board.

Class hasn't even started yet and, already, their three months of London-based ordinary life feels forgotten.

…

 **End Notes** : I had a great time writing this chapter. I promise there'll be more of Damon in the next one. Please share your thoughts and reactions.


End file.
